Page 16 of Client Privilege

I texted backquickly:

Then, after a moment’s hesitation, Iopened a new message to Professor Mercier. We’d agreed to minimal contact for his safety, but he deserved to know I wasn’t sleeping in my car anymore. I kept it brief, knowing he’d understand. His response came almost immediately:

The simple message brought unexpected tears to my eyes. Even after everything Marcus had done to isolate me, I wasn’t completely alone.

I scrambled to put on the cleanest clothes I had—jeans without visible stains and a faded blue t-shirt. I caught my reflection in the small mirror above the sink and winced at the yellowing bruise still visible along my jaw. I looked like exactly what I was—someone who’d been sleeping in their car and running for their life.

But I couldn’t hide in this shelter room forever, no matter how safe it felt. I needed to know what happened next, what this protective order actually meant. Whether it would really keep Marcus away or just make him angrier.

I took the subway to Damian’s office, clutching my worn backpack tightly against myself, hyper-aware of every person around me. Any of them could be reporting back to Marcus. He had people everywhere—waiters, bartenders, gallery assistants, even homeless guys on corners. People who needed money and didn’t ask questions about why a rich man wanted to know about some nobody’s movements.

The security guard at Damian’s building remembered me from the previous day, which was both comforting and terrifying. If he remembered me, he could describe me to someone else. I tried to look casual as the elevator carried me up to the forty-second floor, but my heart hammered against my ribs.

When I reached Damian’s office, his assistant—Sandra, I remembered—gave me a gentle smile.

“Mr. Richards is on a call right now, but he asked me to show you in as soon as you arrived. You can wait in his office if you’d like.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled, following her through the glass door into Damian’s enormous office. The floor-to-ceiling windows showed Toronto sprawled out below, Lake Ontario glittering in the distance.The view reminded me painfully of Marcus’s penthouse—that same godlike perspective on the city.

I perched uncomfortably on one of the sleek visitor chairs, trying not to fidget. The office felt too exposed with its glass walls. Anyone walking by could see me. Report back to Marcus. Tell him where I was hiding.

I forced myself to breathe. Marcus couldn’t get to me here. Not yet, anyway.

Damian’s voice carried through the door before he entered—professional, measured, with an undercurrent of tension I hadn’t heard before.

“I understand the concern, Mr. Montgomery, but I’ve reviewed the case thoroughly. It has significant merit… Yes, I’m aware of Mr. Delaney’s contributions to the hospital board… No, this isn’t a vendetta or publicity stunt… With all due respect, sir, I’m handling this case personally and take full responsibility for—”

He walked through the door, phone pressed to his ear, and stopped short when he saw me. Something flickered across his face—concern? Anger? I couldn’t tell. He held up one finger in a “just a moment” gesture.

“I need to go, sir. We can continue this discussion tomorrow… Yes, I understand the delicacy of the situation. Good afternoon.”

He ended the call and exhaled slowly, his shoulders dropping slightly before he squared them again.

“Alex. I apologize for that. How are you holding up?”

“Was that… was that about me?” My voice came out smaller than I intended.

Damian placed his phone face-down on the desk, a muscle in his jaw tightening. “It appears Mr. Delaney has already begun making his displeasure known.”

My stomach dropped. “What did he do?”

Damian sat behind his desk, his movements controlled but tense. “Nothing you need to worry about. Just some internal firm politics.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” The words burst out before I could stop them. “Marcus lied to me for three years. About everything. I need to know what I’m facing.”

Something shifted in Damian’s expression—surprise, followed by what might have been respect. He nodded once.

“You’re right. I apologize.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. “That was Montgomery, one of the managing partners of this firm. It seems Mr. Delaney has connections to several of our major clients who have expressed… concerns… about us representing you.”

The room seemed to tilt slightly. “He’s trying to get you fired?”

“Not exactly. He can’t fire me, my name’s on the letterhead and the sign. More applying…gentle pressure to suggest this case might not be worth the trouble.” Damian’s voice remained steady, but I saw the tension in his hands. “It’s a standard intimidation tactic. Nothing I haven’t handled before.”

But it wasn’t standard. Not really. I knew exactly how this worked. “This is just the beginning,” I said, my throat tight. “He’ll call in every favour, pressure every connection. He’ll make it impossible for anyone to help me.”

“That may be his intention,” Damian said, “but he’s not the only one with resources.”

He reached for his desk phone, pressing the speaker button. “Sandra, could you verify that our filings were properly recorded with the court? And check if Judge Thornton is still assigned to our preliminary hearing next week.”

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